Rebel, Rebel
by Unruhe
Summary: Pre-Drake's Fortune. David Bowie can make a girl do crazy things.


This story is a response to a challenge on the LJ community uncharted_fics, written for the prompt "rebel". I'm hoping to write more soon!

This takes place pre-Drake's Fortune. The characters do not belong to me, and I am receiving no compensation for this. Also, the lyrics quoted within belong to David Bowie.

Constructive criticism is muchly appreciated!

Happy reading!

* * *

"I love this song!"

Elena never drank on the job. Technically, they weren't on the job yet, since they hadn't boarded, so this didn't count. She and Nate were seated at the bar of a crowded little hole in the wall, the evening before they set out to film.

She took a generous sip of the local concoction that Nate had ordered for her, and sang along.

_ "Hey babe, your hair's alright_

_ Hey babe, let's go out tonight"_

Nate laughed, and nodded to the bartender for a refill. "You don't strike me as a Bowie girl."

"Are you kidding? Who doesn't like David Bowie? This is a great song!" Elena was moving in her seat, swaying with the music.

_ "You like me, and I like it all_

_ We like dancing and we look divine"_

She was sure it wasn't the alcohol (she hadn't had that much), maybe it was the excitement of her assignment, but either way, she really needed to move her feet. "Come on," she said, grabbing Nate by the wrist and pulling him to his feet. "Dance with me."

Nate nearly fell off his stool. "What?" After he steadied himself, he allowed her to pull him out to the smoky dance floor. "I have to say, Ms. Fisher, this seems kinda unlike you," Elena smirked at him. "Not that we know each other enough for me to make that kind of judgment," he added. Nate felt a thrill shoot down his spine as she pulled one of his arms around her waist, and slid one of hers around his neck. Her free hand held his, swinging along to the music.

"Well, Bowie can make a girl do crazy things," she shrugged, and started swaying, her hips moving in a very tantalizing pattern beneath his hand. "Like dance with a rather unsavoury individual she barely knows."

_ "You love bands when they're playing hard_

_ You want more and you want it fast_

_ They put you down, they saw I'm wrong_

_ You tacky thing, you put them on_

_ Rebel, rebel –"_

Nate laughed and chanced pulling her in closer. He didn't want to blame the rum, but she didn't resist, and danced closer into his arms.

_ "Hey babe, let's stay out tonight..._

_ You can't get enough, but enough ain't the test..."_

The dirty floor was crowded, other couples pressing in around them, bodies pressed against each other and grinding slowly to the song. The air was smoky, hot and fragrant. Nate felt sweat drip past his collar, and due to her close proximity, could smell Elena's fading perfume. He didn't question her reasoning behind perfume in the field. Nate wasn't the most rhythmically gifted person alive, but he knew what to do when there was good music playing, and a woman in his arms. There was the faint smell of spiced rum on her breath, and he knew there was whisky on his. He wasn't drunk, and neither was she – unless she was more of a lightweight than he had previously assessed. She'd had a drink or two, but Nate suspected it was more the music than the liquor that brought out this unusual move on her part. Nate thought he owed Bowie a drink.

_ "So what you wanna know_

_ Calamity's child, chi-chile, chi-chile_

_ Where'd you wanna go?_

_ What can I do for you? Looks like you've been there too"_

The song ended and switched to something else, but Elena didn't return to her drink. Nate was secretly pleased. "Do you do this often?"

"What, dance with strange men? No, journalism keeps me too busy to go out," Elena was more relaxed now, and felt comfortable letting go of Nate's other hand to clasp both of hers loosely at the nape of his neck. He slid his now free hand to her waist and pulled her closer.

"So, what, is this assignment too mild for you? Not enough action and adventure?" Nate feigned hurt, hiding his smile. Elena laughed and bumped her hip against his. That thrill Nate felt earlier that had settled in his spine was quickly heading elsewhere.

"No! This is very exciting. Buried treasure, the charming and attractive treasure hunter... I'd say I've got a good lead going here."

Nate, of course, ignored the majority of that and jumped right to the part he thought was most important. He grinned. "So you think I'm attractive?"

Elena flushed and dropped her forehead to his shoulder. "Hey, it's part of the process. We need a good looking subject to really sell the story," she glanced up to catch his eye and he noticed she was smiling.

Nate dropped his voice lower, so she had to press closer to hear him. Her eyes shone bright in the low light of the bar, and the humidity had slicked tendrils of blond hair against her neck. Nate fought the urge to lean in and taste the sweat that kept them there. "What are you doing now, then? More research? Gathering vital intel?" Much to his surprise, Elena closed the small gap that was left between their bodies, and pressed against him, tightening her hands behind his neck. He instinctively grasped her hips, feeling hot skin beneath her tank top.

"You can call it that, if you want. I'm taking an intense interest in my assignment. Checking out every possible angle," The gleam in her eye was starting to look almost predatory. "Know what I mean?"

Nate grinned. "I know all about checking out angles and curves. I'm the charming treasure hunter, remember? I have to know where to look for rare and valuable items." When the conversation had shifted from journalism to something less innocent, Nate didn't know. Not that he was complaining; Elena was a very attractive woman, and it wouldn't be the first time he had mixed business with pleasure. Elena didn't seem too opposed, not with the very _unprofessional_ way her body was pressed to his while they danced. Nate wasn't one for thinking too far ahead, but this was something he would be happy to make an exception for. Well, as least as far ahead as their hotel down the street.

Nate figured he may as well jump for it. What's the worst that could happen? She'd decline, and spend the rest of her assignment thinking that he was just another fame hound looking for more screen time. "My feet are getting tired of pretending I can dance... wanna call it a night?"

Elena looked up at him, curious. "Sure," She dropped her arms from around his waist, and allowed him to lead her to the door with a hand on the small of her back. Nate stopped briefly at the bar and fished out some cash to cover their drinks and a tip. Once outside, Nate slipped an arm around Elena's shoulders as they slowly made their way back to their hotel. The air outside the bar was cooler, but still humid. There was a slight breeze, offering some small relief. Elena closed her eyes and tipped her face up to the night sky to catch the errant breeze. "Ah, this feels nice. I probably still reek of smoke and booze, though."

"Hey, that's all part of the experience! No adventure with me ends with smelling fresh."

"So, you're saying I stink?" Elena elbowed him in the ribs.

Nate took the opportunity to lean over and press his face into her hair, inhaling deeply. She laughed and shoved him away.

"Nah, fresh as a daisy," Elena snorted, but let him drape an arm over her shoulders again. They continued toward the hotel in a companionable silence, unusual for two people who were only recently acquainted. Elena pondered this. Should she be getting this close to a man she barely knew? This was a professional assignment, which alone should be enough to deter her. Sure, Nathan Drake was charming, but was he _too_ charming? Could he be conning her? Or maybe he was actually just a nice guy trying to put her at ease. When Elena caught herself discretely scrutinizing his easy smile and the crinkled corners of his eyes for signs of deceit, she realized she was over-thinking it. So what if she was enjoying this? The assignment was about the tomb of a long-dead explorer, not some current political turmoil, so it wasn't as if she could lose her job over "fraternizing" with the subject. Elena was having a good time, and she refused to feel guilty for enjoying the company of one Nathan Drake.

By the time she refocused, Elena found herself back at their hotel.

Nate cocked an eyebrow. "May I see you to your room, Ms. Fisher?" He pulled his arm from her shoulders and offered her his elbow.

Elena smiled and slipped her arm through his. "Why, thank you, Mr. Drake."

They took the stairs, climbing to their adjoining rooms. At her door, Elena fumbled for her key card, waiting for the beep and green-blinking light, pushing it open. Nate was still close behind her, and she turned to face him. "Well, Nate, thank you for a lovely evening. And for indulging my minor Bowie fanaticism."

"Not at all; it was my pleasure," Nate leaned against her door frame, inclining his head down to hers. His voice was low, wanting her to lean in close again.

She did; one foot keeping her door from closing. Elena reached for him, pressing a soft kiss to the corner of his mouth. "Good night," Before he had a chance to react and re-direct the kiss, Elena turned and slipped into her room. The door closed with a soft _snick_ behind her.

Nate sighed, pulling out his own key card and heading next door to his room.

Fifteen minutes later, Nate lay in bed, questioning why he hadn't made a move. _You wimp_, he thought to himself. Whisky usually made him drowsy, but tonight he found that he was unable to drift off. The overhead fan oscillated quietly, but the night life outside carried on. He briefly entertained the idea of heading back out to find Sully and console his rejection with a few more drinks, but discarded the idea. He really didn't feel up to putting his pants back on, which would be necessary for going out. He was far too comfortable as he was, aside from the distinct lack of a pretty blond in the bed with him. Closing his eyes and imagining the feel of her pressed against him, Nate's hand drifted below the sheet.

* * *

Elena sat at the edge of her bed, conflicted. She had kicked off her shoes, and now sat cross-legged in the dark, watching the adjoining door to Nate's room. Why didn't she invite him in? What was she so afraid of, that she might have a good time after a fun night out with a nice guy? Elena abruptly stood up. She was taking charge. She was going to go over there, and she was going to have enjoy herself (and Nate as well). What if he didn't share the same desire? What if _she_ didn't really feel the desire; she was just responding to the situation? Elena sat back down. No, she knew how her body had responded to Nate's close against her. She could feel the familiar ache. She noticed how his body had responded as well. What if he was passed out, snoring? She shook her head. _No, I want this, and I think he does too. If he's sleeping, I'll just wake him up_, Elena thought. She stood up again. "Screw it," she said aloud, "I'm doing it." Chin in the air, she headed to the adjoining door.


End file.
